


a moment in the dark

by 0neType



Series: light the path home [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale, Alternate Universe - Underverse, Angst, Bondage, Crying, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Overstimulation, Penetrative Sex, Possessiveness, Post-Underverse, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut, Tentacles, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: Dream tries to fix things with his brother. Cross interrupts. Nightmare is extremely unimpressed.





	a moment in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back at it again 💦
> 
> A huge thank you to all of you who supported my last DreamMare fic and my sudden, unforeseen obsession with these utter Fools. <3 It means a lot to me that so many of you went out of your way to read it despite not knowing anything about the ship at all ;w; You guys are the best :")
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic just as much 🖤💛
> 
> Special shoutout to [Lyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/) who 1) wrote DreamMare for me 😭 2) put up with me yelling in DMs about these nerds for ages and fueled the thirst enough that I couldn't _not_ write this fic LMAO //smoochsmooch ya cutie uwu

After a fitful night of tossing and turning without getting any rest, Dream finally gets up. There’s no sun in this broken world his brother’s made a home in to tell him the time of day, but he’s always been particularly attuned to light. He knows it’s morning by the restless feeling in his bones, pushing him to get up even though he’s still exhausted from the night before.

He follows the urge, sluggishly throwing off the covers and taking stock of himself. He changed the night before, had even gone through the motions of a shower, but he still feels not quite back to the same state as before. He eyes the piles of clothes he folded onto his chair, his robe blackened and his undersuit torn. Dream has extras in the closet, but there’s a lump in his throat as he wonders what he’s supposed to do with these. Does he throw them away like he’s ashamed of what happened or does try to wash and mend them? Is this really something he can fix?

Shaking his head clear of the thoughts, he leaves the clothes where they are and dresses himself in a fresh set of the same ensemble. Unfortunately, he only has one of the scarf. There’s no way to make a copy, not with the same meaning anyhow. His brother made it for him. It’s irreplaceable. Without it around his neck, he feels incomplete, bare to the world. Especially when a faint ache reminds him of the mark his brother left there.

Fighting back a blush from the memory, he picks up the scarf in his hands, running a thumb over the black stain left on it where Nightmare touched it last night. He wouldn’t dare throw this away, not ever, not when it’s so intrinsically linked to who he is and where he came from. There’s no option other than fixing it. Even if no one but him cared.

Determined, Dream dons his scarf, letting the worn, comfortable fabric rest familiar against his bones. With it on, he feels a little more like himself, a little more at peace. He takes a second to ground himself and then strides purposefully towards the door, goal in mind. He needs to deal with this sooner rather than later, he can’t afford to be derailed.

He pulls open the door and puffs out his chest and marches out the door, instantly colliding with a solid chest right in front of him.

“Ow—what—?” Dream backs up, wincing and rubbing at his face.

“Shit, sorry, are you okay?”

Dream looks up into a black turtleneck. He follows it up to a white, fur-collared hoodie, and then further still to a familiar face. He blanches. “Cross?”

The skeleton in question gives him an awkward half wave with the hand he apparently had up to knock with in the air, the fist changing into splayed phalanges. There’s a crooked smile on his face and apprehension in his eyelights. Eyelights that are, Dream is relieved to note, still completely white. “Hey, Dream. How’ve you been?”

“How have I—? How have _ you _been?!” For a moment, thoughts of the difficult conversation ahead are swiped from his mind, the prospect of catching up with a friend putting a giddiness back into him. “I haven’t seen you in ages! When did you get here?”

Some of the nervousness drains from Cross’s expression, his smile more genuine. “Got here late last night. Didn’t intend to stay long but one thing led to another and… here I am, I guess.”

“I’m glad you decided to stay! I would’ve missed you otherwise since I—” The words catch in his throat, too close to the issues at hand. He pushes past it, voice bright. “Since I turned in pretty early yesterday.”

There’s a flicker in the other skeleton’s eyelights that smooths away quicker than Dream can read it. He’s curious, but he tries to keep from searching Cross’s emotions in response. Dream avoids doing it as much as he can help, especially since often he can’t control it at all. Cross deserves a little privacy after what he’s been through. 

“Yeah, I… heard you were here,” Cross says, slow, “Didn’t really believe it at first, to be honest.”

“Why’s that?”

“Uh… you know, just…” At this point, the other monster flicks his gaze away to either side of the hall, as if checking to make sure they’re alone. “After everything with your brother, I sorta thought this would be the last place you’d want to be.”

The words quieten Dream. He’s not sure what to say. Things hadn’t exactly been great between him and Nightmare when the multiverse had been falling apart, but then, when had they _ ever _been? Once upon a time ago, he and his brother had been close, but no one they knew now had been around to see it. As far as they knew, this Nightmare was the only one to ever have existed.

So what was he supposed to answer with here? Should he just say he’s used to it? Or does he try to explain. Does he try to put into words how much it means to him that Nightmare even gave him the option to stay here? To be beside him? That it’s a peace offering he never expected to get from his brother, an apology that Dream would never name as such and that Nightmare would never admit to in the first place?

Cross is his friend. They’ve fought for each other. They’ve fought _ against _each other too, indirectly, back when Cross worked for Nightmare, but things were different after that. They’d grown to understand each other.

Still, Dream’s not sure he could convey his feelings about this in a way that would satisfy him. Cross associates Nightmare with some of the worst moments of his life. Dream can’t exactly blame him for it, but he’s not looking for an argument over it either. So instead, he avoids the sentiment all together. “Who told you I was here?”

Cross’s startles, derailed. He hesitates, and then speaks up again, vaguely uncomfortable. “… Ink…”

“_Ink?_” Now it’s Dream’s turn to be startled. “You talked to him?”

‘Are you okay? Is _ he _okay?’ Dream wants to ask, but doesn’t. It’d been hard enough for Dream to reach out to Ink after the fiasco, and he’d known what his friend could be like past the teasing, lackadaisical exterior. To Cross, who’d had only him to rely on, who had only ever seen the friendly, fun-loving side of Ink, simply to be betrayed… that must’ve been a conversation for the ages.

“Yeah, but that’s not important right now,” Cross says briskly, brushing the topic aside. His height has never been more apparent than it is now as he closes in on Dream, towering a good head over him with a frown planted firmly on his face. There’s agitation radiating off of him with undercurrents of something like concern. But what for? “Dream, listen. I only came here because I—”

“Oho_ho_, look who it is!”

Dream is treated to the way Cross winces and then smoothly covers it with a blank face as he turns his head to the side. “Killer. It’s been a while.”

There’s a manic grin on the face of the skeleton at the end of the hall. The target on his chest is pulsing bright as always, somehow making the streaks of black spilling from his sockets seem even darker. Dream watches the way the slouched monster’s shoulders shake with mirth. At Cross’s acknowledgement, his grin goes impossibly wider.

“Missed the boss’s dick so bad you had to come back for more, huh?”

“I think you have me confused for you.”

Dream tenses, feeling the outpouring of negative emotion coming off the both of them. Day in and day out, there’s fighting amongst his brother’s crew, but he’s never had the opportunity to see Cross’s dynamic with them. Cross is headstrong, he fights first and asks questions later, but is that how he’s always been or are those just the only circumstances Dream has seen him in? How will he respond to a fight with someone with nothing at stake but pride?

The terse silence following the exchange is broken by hearty laughter. Killer cackles, loud, holding his skull with one hand as he walks closer to them. Once he’s close enough, he slaps a hand at Cross’s back, still snickering. “Oh man, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good laugh. You’re still a fuckin’ traitor, but I’m willin’ to let it slide on account of how god damn _ boring _it is to deal with Dust and Horror all day.”

“Thanks,” Cross says, dry.

“You’re welcome!” Killer grins, bright, and Dream gets the impression that the insincerity went over his head entirely. That, or he’s ignoring it. “In any case, I didn’t come for you.”

Killer turns to face Dream, a long phalange coming out to poke him in the side, teasing. “You’re being summoned by the King, little light.”

Out of the corner of his vision, Dream can see Cross’s features scrunch up as he mouths ‘little light’ to himself in confusion. Dream’s face goes hot. Killer is arguably the most sociable of his brother’s gang, and at some point he’d fixed Dream with the moniker. Dream doesn’t know where it comes from or why Killer had chosen to bestow it upon him, but he hadn’t seen the harm in it at the time. He’d been relieved, really, to have some sort of indication that he was accepted by Nightmare’s crew. Especially since he distinctly remembered Killer trying to stab him on several occasions prior to his residing in the castle.

But now, Dream wishes he’d told Killer off from the start, if only to spare himself the embarrassment he feels standing next to Cross and being called by a silly nickname.

“Still going on with that ‘King’ shit?” Cross scoffs, thankfully ignoring the part directed at Dream.

Killer winks at him. “Just because you’re used to calling him ‘daddy’, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

“Okay!” Dream interrupts, clapping his hands together loudly to draw attention away from Cross’s rapidly purpling face. The skeleton may no longer have Chara hanging around inside of him, but the rage remains. Maybe it was more inherent to him than Dream had realised. “Let’s not keep my brother waiting any longer, shall we?”

“Good idea!” Killer beams. “Nightmare’s been pissy all morning and it’d be great if we could avoid making that worse.”

There’s no part of Killer’s words that are promising. Dream’s soul sinks at the thought of last night being the reason for his brother’s terrible mood. He’d been planning to catch Nightmare alone, to confront him one on one, but it looked like there wouldn’t be a chance for that. He’d just have to suck it up and wait for a later opportunity to talk to him.

“Agreed.” Dream watches as Cross forces himself calm, shoving his clenched fists into the pockets of his hoodie. “Ready, Cross?”

“I guess,” he grunts.

Then, he steps forward till he’s bodily in between Dream and Killer, separating the two from each other. Killer gives him a look that’s equal parts amused and like he’s considering shanking him for the slight. But Nightmare really must be in a terrible mood, because Killer doesn’t pursue it any further, simply turning around and heading in the direction of the dining hall. Cross and Dream follow silently behind.

It doesn’t take very long for them to reach there, and Dust and Horror look up in their direction as they enter. Killer gives them a little wave which makes Dust turn back to his meal and Horror grin at him in that haunted way of his. Dream drags his gaze past them to where his brother is standing at the end of the table, his back to the entrance. 

“Yo, boss. Found ‘im for you.”

“Faster than I expected,” Nightmare says, which is about as close to praise as his brother ever gets with his entourage. Killer practically preens under the comment, standing a little straighter. Nightmare turns looks over his shoulder at them, his eye resting on Dream for only a fraction of a second before it slides over to Cross instead. “... you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Cross says, taking another half a step forward and tilting his head up at Nightmare, as if daring him to press further about it.

Nightmare snorts, “Well, alright then. You can catch up with the others. Dream, come with me.”

As Nightmare turns fully, Dream can see papers in his hand, lots of them. He also notes that his brother is wearing gloves, possibly in an attempt not to smudge them with the viscous liquid he’s made up of. He frowns. Nightmare must really be feeling low if he can’t hold his form together enough to keep from staining important documents. There’s a stab of guilt in his chest as he considers his part in that.

Again, Nightmare’s eyelight glances back at him. When they make eye contact, Dream forces himself not to look away. He tries to read his brother’s mood but his expression is carefully guarded. Still, Nightmare wants to talk. That’s promising, right? He swallows, reflexive, and takes a step towards him.

Cross takes a step as well.

Dream blinks. He looks up at the other skeleton in confusion but Cross is still staring straight ahead at Nightmare.

The room goes quiet. Dust stops eating, looking up at them. Horror follows suit. Even Killer, with his constant snickering, falls silent.

With a sudden burst of apprehension, Dream takes another careful step forward. Before he’s even done moving up, Cross does the same. In fact, he goes a step further and moves so that Dream is now half-hidden from Nightmare’s view. From where he’s standing, he can see just enough to witness his brother’s eyelight flare bright with magic in his irritation, jaw held tight.

“What, are you supposed to be his bodyguard now or something?”

“Guess so,” Cross says, smirking. Dream can feel the negativity in the room increase steadily. A part of him wants to step in and intervene, but he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

Nightmare sets the papers at the table. He smiles. There’s nothing nice about it. “That’s up to you. Are you about to make this a problem, Cross?”

The look in his brother’s eye is familiar. It’s that careful, building, anger that’s one spark away from ignition. Even before the corruption, Nightmare had gotten irritable the same way, a slow burning fury that simmered and seethed till it could no longer be contained. The only difference now is how his brother chooses to show it. Whereas before he may have exploded with a few bitter, shouted words and then closed himself off, sulking, the Nightmare of today is flashier.

His brother doesn’t take kindly to being undermined. Not anymore.

It’s solely for that reason that Dream’s hand seeks out Cross’s, racing forward to neatly grip it in his own. Cross startles at the touch, looking back at him in surprise. The motion tilts his body enough that Dream can see Nightmare fully. He’s presented with the full brunt of his brother’s displeasure as Nightmare’s gaze falls down to their joined hands and holds there, rage churning ever brighter behind his eye. His mouth curves down. Dream’s soul sinks.

“Dream…?” Cross’s voice is soft, markedly different from how it had been just moments ago.

“I… I dropped something on the way here,” Dream says, lie spilling unpracticed from between his teeth, “Cross, will you help me go back and look for it?”

Dust snorts where he’s sitting, shaking his head. Horror’s grin gets wider still and Killer starts to snicker. Dream’s body is hot with embarrassment. He can’t look at Nightmare, too afraid of the expression his brother must be wearing right now, with an excuse so transparent. Everyone can see right through him.

Everyone, except Cross.

“Uh, yeah, sure…?” Though his confusion is apparent, his willingness to help is genuine. It floods Dream with guilt. Cross has been constantly let down, turned on and betrayed. He’s no stranger to lies. And yet, somehow, whenever it comes to Dream, Cross always takes what he says at face value. He never questions it. To use that to his advantage feels wrong in his core.

Still, he has few other options. It’s either remove Cross from the situation or let him face down his brother’s ire.

Cross continues to look a little thrown off by the suddenness of the question. “You mean like… right now?” He throws a look back in Nightmare’s direction, as if expecting the other skeleton to step in and stop them. Dream refuses to follow his gaze. His brother doesn’t say a word.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright then.” Cross smiles at him, adjusting their hands so that now he’s the one clasping Dream’s in his own. He squeezes it. “Let’s go.”

He leads them out of the dining hall, Dream trailing along behind him. Killer shouts something after them but Dream can’t focus enough to hear it, wondering instead how his brother will choose to react to this. There’s no doubt he’ll be upset. Nightmare wanted to talk to him—possibly wanted to work through what happened last night—and Dream left the room entirely. Who knows when he’ll be able to get another chance?

Dream reminds himself that it was probably still better than the alternative. If he’d let that situation play out, Cross could’ve gotten hurt. And with Dream himself being the reason for Nightmare’s already tense mood, it would’ve been entirely his fault.

“Where’d you lose it?” Cross asks. “We’re already almost back to your room—do you think maybe you left it there?”

Dream grits his teeth and stops walking forward. He anchors the two of them in place, Cross unable to move any further either when he’s holding onto Dream’s hand like this. The taller skeleton glances at him over his shoulder. “You alright? What was it you dropped anyways?”

“I’m sorry, Cross. I made that all up,” Dream says in a rush of breath, looking up at him earnestly, “I just needed to get you away from my brother.”

Cross blinks at him, his brow bones furrowing.

He pushes on. “Nightmare’s in a worse mood than usual because of last—well, because of me, and I just… I didn’t want you to be the one he took it out on when it was me he had an issue with. I could tell he was on edge already and I—”

“Oh,” Cross says, as if surprised, “You lied to me.”

The words have Dream clamping his mouth shut. It’s an unexpected mirror to the accusation from Nightmare last night. There’s no anger from Cross, no heat, not like his brother, but somehow it pains Dream all the same to hear it.

He’s supposed to be the good guy, right? He’s supposed to be honest and trustworthy. So where does it leave him when he’s been called out for deceit twice now? Does it matter that he did it for a good reason? It should, right? Even though he knows how hurtful it is to Cross in particular to be manipulated like this?

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet.

Cross doesn’t respond. He looks Dream over for a long, silent moment, sockets unreadable. Then, he quickly glances both ways down the hall. Without answer or any further acknowledgement, Cross tightens his grip on Dream’s hand and tugs him forward, walking rapidly into a connecting path.

“Come on.”

Dream looks up at him, startled. His feet trip over themselves a little as he finds his footing again, following quickly after Cross. His hand feels warm where the other skeleton is still holding it. “W-where are we going?”

“Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

He’s baffled by the statement, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, Dream lets Cross move him along down several winding corridors until they stop in front of an innocuous looking door. It’s a little like the one to his room, except where his has crescent moons carved into the stone doors, this one is plain. With another quick look either way, Cross twists the knob and pulls Dream inside, closing the door behind them.

It’s another bedroom, though this is far smaller than his own had been. There’s a bed, a small dresser with a mirror and not much else of note. It’s all decorated in the same dark purples his brother favours. 

“It’s my room,” Cross explains, though Dream gathered as much, “I checked it out when I got back here and we’re safe. No one will hear us.”

“Why, um… why did you bring me here?”

Cross moves quick, finally letting go of Dream’s hand only to grab him by both shoulders and pull him close. Dream resists the urge to yelp, their chest suddenly almost flush against each other. Cross’s face is lined with worry. “Are you okay?”

“W-what?”

“When Ink told me you were here, I came after you right away. I knew there was no way anyone else on the inside would help you. Horror, Killer, Dust—Nightmare has their loyalty entirely. I’m not exactly in his good graces, but I figured with the way things went down, he’d at least let me into the castle. Then it was just a matter of finding you and taking you back out with me.”

Dream stares up at Cross, his mouth falling open. There’s a protective aura radiating off of him, palpable and real. Dream can feel the strength of his emotions. “Cross… I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

He extricates himself from Cross as gently as he can, taking a step back and removing the other monster’s hands from his shoulders. “I _ chose _to come here.”

“I know, Ink said the same, but you’ve been here longer than just a visit and no one’s seen you anywhere outside of here since,” Cross says, all in one breath, “Dream. I promise you that you’re safe with me. You can be honest. If he’s keeping you trapped, I’ll help you escape.”

For a moment, he’s speechless. Cross’s soul is emitting that same protective feeling, stronger and stronger with each passing second. It’s both flattering and humbling to know that he’s the cause of it. He doesn’t know what he’s done to have inspired such devotion from Cross, but it makes his chest feel tight to know that it’s based on the assumption that his brother is hurting him.

“He’s not keeping me here.” Dream tries to smile at Cross, reaching out to hold his arm reassuringly. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Dream, you don’t have to hide it. He’s not going to hear you in here.”

“I’m not hiding anything, Cross. I came to the castle of my own free will and my brother doesn’t stop me from leaving whenever I like.”

The frustration Cross feels is clear, even without his soul transmitting the feeling loudly as he speaks. “You don’t have to protect him. He doesn’t deserve that from you. Not when he doesn’t give a shit about what it means to be a family.”

He’s taken aback by the amount of venom the other skeleton packs into that last sentence. “Cross, it’s really okay. I’m fine. I don’t know what you heard, or who you heard it from but—”

“I heard it from _ him_!” Cross is visibly tense now, standing rigid in front of him with his fists clenched. His emotions are storming out in waves, strife with enough negativity to make Dream flinch. “I wanted to give him the benefit of doubt, but when I came here last night he—”

A familiar melody interrupts them, jaunty and playful. It’s not terribly loud, but it instantly distracts Cross, whose face clears of agitation only to fill with something tired and resigned. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, staring at the screen, jaw tight.

He meets Dream’s eyes, apologetic. “It’s my brother. I’m sorry, I have to take this, will you…?”

“Take as long as you need,” Dream pipes up, relieved beyond words to have a reason to end this conversation, “We can talk later. I’m going to head back to the dining hall, but if you don’t finish up by the time I’m done there, we can meet in my room.”

He can tell that Cross isn’t satisfied with that, but the phone continues to ring and he’s forced to nod. Dream watches as he answers the call and puts the phone up to the side of his skull. When he speaks, his voice is bright and unassuming, but there’s no smile on his face. He looks more drained of energy than he had been only moments ago.

“Hey, Paps. What’s up?”

Dream takes that as his cue to leave.

He closes the door carefully behind him as he exits into the hallway, watching Cross through the crack till it’s sealed. He’s worried about him but it’s probably not his place to be. Cross has a complicated relationship with his family, his brother in particular. Dream can relate. The most he can do right now is give him space and hope that if anything is really wrong, Cross will come to him for help.

With a sigh, he turns away from the door and walks back in the direction of the dining hall.

Dream barely makes it halfway down the path, Cross’s bedroom door still visible behind him, when he’s abruptly slammed into the wall. The force of it knocks the breath out of him, his back jostled with sudden pain. He grunts at the feeling. He’s about to yell—to shout in alarm—but the words in his mouth dry up as the sound of something dripping fills the otherwise quiet hall.

“Hello, brother,” Nightmare purrs.

Dream squints past the pain. Nightmare has him held to the wall by a tentacle on his right shoulder and one wrapped around his waist. His own hands he keeps in his pockets, a mirthless grin gracing his face. “Night…? W-what—”

“Done talking to your boyfriend?”

A blush scalds Dream’s cheekbones in an instant. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, of course not,” Nightmare coos, sweet and fake, “You’ve _ never _ thought about fucking him. Not pure, perfect, _ innocent _Dream.”

Words are impossible at the moment. What can he even say to that? It’s obvious his brother is mocking him, tearing into his reputation across the multiverse. There’s just something about his personality and appearance that make people assume things about him, it’s not something he can help. It shocks them when they learn his age, most of them calling him a kid till they learn any better, and some even afterwards. 

Dream can only imagine how they’d react if they ever found out that their virtuous guardian of positivity had tasted his own brother on his tongue.

“Why would you need to…” Nightmare goes on, taking a step closer. He takes a hand out of his pocket and trails the back of his phalanges down the side of Dream’s face. The gentle touch is a stark contrast to the way he’s being held rough against the wall. The disparity makes him shiver. Nightmare smiles, his tentacles tightening. “When you have _ me_?”

Dreams sockets widen and he has only a moment to see the flash of voracious hunger in Nightmare’s eye before his brother uses his tentacles to spin him around and slam him back into the wall again. This time, he positions one tentacle on his skull, keeping the side of his face pressed to the coarse stone, while another encircles his arms and keeps them held to his back. With a third, Nightmare pulls at his femurs till they’re spread apart.

Heat envelopes Dream’s whole body, embarrassment filling him. “B-brother, what are you doing?!”

“Fucking you,” Nightmare says, blunt. He presses in close from behind, his chest warm along the back of Dream’s spine. His hands come up to hold at Dream’s hips, his pelvis lining up with his. Like this, it’s easy to feel Nightmare’s arousal, heavy against his tailbone. Dream trembles, blush spreading further down his body.

“We _ can’t_.” Dream fights back the urge to grind into the pressure. His eyelights dart down the hall, Cross’s door still easily visible from where they are. “Not here.”

“Sure we can.”

His brother works his remaining tentacle up underneath Dream’s robe, finding the top of his undersuit. Unlike last night, his movements are careful and dexterous. Slowly, bit by bit, his brother tugs the garment down till it rests at his hips. At that point, the tentacle swirls into his pelvic inlet instead, stroking along the sensitive insides and leaving sticky, black residue in its wake.

Dream swallows the moan working its way out. “N-night… Cross is still in the room.”

“Good for him,” his brother responds, entirely unconcerned. The hands at his hips move enough for his brother to easily hook his thumbs into the undersuit, deftly using that to guide the garment further down till Dream’s pelvis is bare. Nightmare hums, approving, his thumbs caressing the exposed bone. Dream’s phalanges twitch helplessly behind his back.

“He—he could come out at any second,” Dream reasons, desperate, “He could step outside and see us like this.”

For a moment, his brother stills and Dream wonders if he’s finally broken through to him. But then, Nightmare draws in till his head rests in the crook of Dream’s neck. His breath comes hot, his whispered words loud so close up. “Now there’s an idea.”

Dream can’t breathe, a slow shiver overtaking every other function of his body.

“Where’s the harm in a little exhibition? It’s a good thought, him wandering out of the room and finding me pressing you half-dressed into the wall, legs spread wide and dripping around my cock. You’d make a pretty picture, don’t you think? With my cum staining your thighs, so clearly taken care of yet still begging for more.”

Nightmare drags the tentacle in his pelvis along the delicate center of his pubis, rubbing there mercilessly. The words have Dream’s magic rushing low, pulsing with a need to form something tangible. Only the fear of being caught keeps him from giving into the feeling.

“I’d show you off, all fucked out and dirtied. Run my fingers over every place I marked you.”

His grip tightens on Dream’s hips, phalanges digging in hard enough to bruise. Dream whimpers.

“And maybe, if I’m feeling generous,” Nightmare says, low and vicious, “I’ll hold your cunt open and let him have a taste.”

Dream’s body tenses, his magic threatening to spark into shape. He shakes his head against the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut from the strain. It’s dangerous and risky and stupid. Cross could finish his phone call any second and come searching for him. But the way Nightmare keeps rubbing firm against his symphysis is making it impossible to think of anything else.

“_Night_,” he croaks, a final, forlorn protest, “He’ll hear us.”

It’s like his brother was waiting for him to say exactly that.

Nightmare laughs, breathless. A hand leaves his hip and trails up the side of his body. His brother snakes it carefully between his skull and the stone wall, bringing it up to Dream’s mouth. He wraps his phalanges closed around it, making Dream’s already harried breath quicken further.

“Then I guess you’ll have to keep quiet.”

It’s too much. He’s powerless.

Dream leans into Nightmare’s restraining hand with a tight groan, his magic dropping into place and his whole body unbearably hot. He’s already soaked, arousal lancing through his bones. There’s a burning stretch inside of him where his pussy formed around the tentacle that was still in his pelvic inlet. He can hear his brother chuckle from behind, clearly amused.

Nightmare’s hand on him muffles another moan as the tentacle in his pussy makes a few testing thrusts. The slick sounds of their magic mixing have Dream squeezing his sockets shut again, like it’ll somehow save him from the embarrassment. His brother’s thick, dripping, appendage continues to push into his pussy, seemingly intent on finding its limits. It burns in a way that only makes Dream spread his legs further, eager to meet it.

“Fuck, you’re real into this, huh?” Nightmare whispers, half-awed, “You like it when your big brother takes care of you?”

The noise Dream makes in response is humiliating. He’s more thankful than ever that it’s stifled by Nightmare’s hand.

Because, it’s true isn’t it? He _ does _like it when Nightmare takes care of him. He liked it back when things were innocent between them, all thunderstorms and magic capes, and he likes it now, in whatever ways his brother will deign to bestow it upon him.

“You _ do_.” Nightmare sounds delighted, like he’s uncovered some secret. Dream doesn’t have the capacity to remind him that it’s been that way for ages. He’s struggling just to keep his desperate whining back, femurs trembling as the tentacle at his pubic symphysis continues to rub there, insistent.

“Give me all of you, Dream.”

He shakes his head.

‘I can’t,’ he tries to mumble against Nightmare’s hand, but the sound is lost halfway through. His magic is already so raw and uncurbed, cradled in his pelvis, he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if something more was added to the mix. 

Still, Nightmare is not to be rejected. Unbothered by how fiercely Dream is trying to hold himself back, his brother pushes on with his tentacles. Over and over, Nightmare works at his sensitive pubis till Dream’s resistance breaks, cock forming in a flare of bright, golden magic.

He can’t help the shout that erupts from him, false throat choking up and tears springing to his sockets. He snaps them open, frantic, looking back down towards Cross’ room. Even with his bleary vision, it’s clear that the door is still completely closed. Dream heaves a wet breath, relieved but still on edge.

“There we go.” He can hear the grin in Nightmare’s voice. His tentacle wraps around Dream’s cock and strokes, long and languid over the length of it. Dream grits his teeth, well aware that the louder he gets, the greater the chances of them being discovered.

Nightmare doesn’t seem to care, intent on pushing every limit. As the appendage around his cock continues to stroke him, slicking him up with its dark liquid, the other one in his pussy resumes thrusting. It bends and curls inside of him, stretching his walls. The stimulation is overwhelming, double the input from earlier.

Dream struggles against it, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s pinned between the wall and the warmth of his brother’s chest. He wriggles helplessly, arms trying to pull free of Nightmare’s hold, but the tentacle keeping his limbs pinned is unwavering. The remaining snaking tendril roves along Dream’s spread legs, trailing higher and higher up the inside of his femurs, winding him up, before ultimately retreating and starting all over again.

It’s maddening.

Dream wants to run, wants to shrink away, wants to stay like this forever, Nightmare touching him so completely. It’s getting harder and harder to focus on controlling his reactions. His teeth are still clenched, but his jaw is starting to ache. More and more sounds are slipping from him. It would be so much easier to just let go.

“How does it feel, little brother?” Nightmare’s remaining limb, the hand at his hip, reaches up to tug at the top edge of his scarf, pulling it away from his neck. His brother presses his mouth against the bone, speaking into it. “Good?”

The words are punctuated with another thrust. Dream gurgles something incomprehensible, tears in his sockets spilling over.

“Mm, I can feel you clenching around me so it _ must _be good. You’re so desperate to keep me filling you up.” The tentacle twists again, bulging and thick along his walls. At the same time, the tendril on his dick winds under his head, working the area there and occasionally rubbing firm over the wet head. 

“I wonder if you’ll come from your dick first or your pussy,” Nightmare muses. As he speaks, the tapered tip of the appendage around his cock slips slick along his slit. The head of his dick tingles, restless and eager for more. Dream whines, shaking hard at the feeling. His legs twist and turn, a feeble attempt to break away from every point of contact.

“Either way,” Nightmare breaths against his neck, “It won’t be without my cock inside of you.”

It’s then that Dream feels something pushing against his dripping hole, right next to the tentacle already in him. His sockets widen in alarm. He tries to twist his head back to look, but the angle is impossible. He notices, suddenly, fearfully, that Nightmare’s hand is no longer near his neck. Instead, the back of it brushes his pelvis as his brother slowly guides the head of his cock into his pussy.

Dream’s mouth falls open under his brother’s hand, a loud cry escaping him. Nightmare cups his mouth tighter, but it doesn’t help much with the volume. His voice is unrestrained now, switching into hiccoughing whimpers and wails as Nightmare continues to press his cock in further. Tears spring anew in Dream’s sockets. The stretch is too much to bear, even though the tentacle inside of him had been working him open all the while. It burns in a way Dream can feel all the way up in his throat, choking him breathless. 

“Shit, Dream,” his brother moans into his shoulder.

He’s so wet, he’s soaking. He doesn’t know if that dripping of liquid against the stone floor is his brother’s inky fluid or his own slick. All he knows is that when his brother inches his cock in further, the squishy, sticky noises it makes is loud enough that it echoes in the hall.

At this point, Dream isn’t sure he cares. He’s whining helplessly, uncaring of how much of it is or is not muffled. When Nightmare starts pumping Dream’s cock, he feels like his head rings with the stimulus. His body is alight, cock straining and leaking precome all over the tentacle working him. He feels the wetness being spread along his head with each pass, a wounded noise pealing from him as the tendril twists and rubs along his slit, over and over. 

All the while, Nightmare keeps pushing steadily into him, little by little, till his cock is half-way sheathed inside his pussy and Dream feels overfull and strung-out along every point of contact. 

For a moment, everything stops. Nightmare doesn’t move and Dream scrambles to regain control of himself.

“Cross can’t fuck you like I can.”

The words don’t process. Dream hears only Cross’ name and feels his soul leap up in his throat, eyes whipping back to the door. It’s only once he sees it still shut and the rush of panic rescinds that the rest of the sentence registers. Dream flushes, cheekbones hot.

“He can’t make you fall apart like this.” Nightmare noses into his neck, finding the bruise from the night before. Dream keens as he runs his tongue over it, slow, pressing in and reigniting the ache. “Can’t make you cry and plead and beg with your body when words aren’t enough.”

Dream is trembling, bones vibrating minutely. They clatter up against the stone wall, anticipation winding tighter and tighter.

“He doesn’t know you.”

The world is at a standstill. Dream exists only at this point, pressed to the wall, grounded by Nightmare’s presence alone.

“Not like _ I _ do,” he brother growls, finally, blessedly, fucking up into him at last.

The force of that first thrust wrenches a sob from Dream’s throat. Secrecy forgotten, Nightmare switches from covering Dream’s mouth to wrapping that hand around his neck, holding him down. Dream gasps as Nightmare’s tentacles in him and on him start to move in tandem, running in counterpoint to his brother’s cock plunging in and out of his pussy. Nightmare still isn’t all the way in, but Dream feels full past capacity anyway. Hot tears run down his face even as he tries to push back into the rutting, desperate tingling coursing over his entire body.

His cock is sensitive, every stroke making his hips jut into the tight squeeze of the tendril around him, pumping faster and faster. His dick swells, dripping, so close to coming. Dream’s toes curl in his boots, feet sliding further apart as he takes what Nightmare gives him with a strangled moan.

Nightmare fucks him ruthlessly, using his pussy up. His cock slips and glides against the slick appendage grinding at the end of his passage, twisting and squirming in a way that makes Dream want to rub his cunt off against the wall in front of him. He feels depraved, shameless. He’s mindlessly calling out to Nightmare, begging in half finished sentences and stray thoughts. 

His brother groans, loud, as Dream clenches tight around him. Dream can feel the way his hands shake as he brings them down to grab, rough, at his hips. He pulls Dream onto him, cock slipping in just a little further, making Dream swallow his pleas on a shriek-turned-moan.

“Who do you belong to?” Nightmare pants, raspy and worn.

He can’t focus. The question trickles down to him drop by drop, puddling in his head with confusion. He can feel a flash of possessiveness emanating from his brother’s soul.

“Ahn—_hh_, Nightmare, I—”

Nightmare fucks him hard, catching his rough inner walls and bringing flashes of white to Dream’s vision. The possessive aura expands, explosive. “_Who do you belong to, Dream?_”

“_You_,” Dream gasps, crying from the overwhelming pleasure, “You, you, _ you_, Night, you, please—”

His brother breaks all rhythm, slamming into him over and over, hitting that same spot till Dream is slurring sounds together than make no sense at all. At the same time, the appendage on his cock curls around the head and rubs and squeezes in turn, relentless.

When Dream comes, he doesn’t know which happens first. He’s only aware of the way his body shudders and shakes. He can’t breathe, he can’t hear, he can’t see. He can only float in an endless stream of sensations.

It feels like an eternity before he takes his first ragged breath, his eyelights still guttered out. His skull is ringing again, louder than before. His body can’t support itself any longer, knees quaking and bending under his own weight. He can’t tell if Nightmare came or not, everything too much, though he idly thinks he can feel new wetness trickling down the insides of his femurs.

Dream takes a shaky breath and his head throbs. He doesn’t know if that’s a signal that he passes out, but when he regains enough strength to fade his eyelights back in, the scene around him is entirely changed.

They’re no longer in the long hallway. Instead, there are rich, purple drapes all along the windows to the east wall of a large bedroom. Nightmare is carrying him, cradled to chest, as he walks towards a deep purple bed in the center of all the other expensive furniture. Dream’s head lolls to the side as he tries to look around, body far too tired to respond the way it should.

So carefully that Dream thinks maybe he’s imagining this all together, his brother lowers him into the bed, pulling back the covers to make room for him.

“I… I wan’ed to talk t’you…” Dream slurs, sockets drowsy and eyelights already starting to flicker out again. He tries to sit up, weak.

Nightmare snorts, pressing Dream’s head back into the pillow. “Not now, idiot. Take a nap.”

“But it’s… it was… s’important!”

“We’ll talk later.”

Dream yawns, his limbs heavy and weighted. The mattress is plush underneath him, the silk sheets cool on his warm, aching bones. The sheets are comforting, encompassing him, safe. “... promise?”

The corner of Nightmare’s mouth twitches. If Dream didn’t know any better, he’d think his brother was holding back a smile. He’s too disoriented to gauge its authenticity.

He doesn’t trust himself enough right now to know if any of this is real but, he hopes that if it is, he doesn’t forget that almost affectionate look in his brother’s eye.

“Yeah,” Nightmare says, quiet, “I promise.”

Dream nods, satisfied, and promptly falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. I guess this is a series now LMAOOO
> 
> Let me know if you guys wanna see anything in particular cuz I'm still super thirsty and would be down for writing So Much More //okhands


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